


Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Back the Hell Off

by knightinbrightfeathers



Series: Society and Sorcery 'verse [1]
Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Agatha's mom is unaccepting of her sexuality, Character Development, F/F, I don't know how to tag it, Mostly Fluff, Pining, Slow Build, especially for Simon and Baz, it gets better though, they don't even get started here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agatha Wellbelove has always known that she was destined for the many duties of the heiress of the house of Wellbelove, including politicking, socializing and making a good marriage with someone rich and easily controlled. She just never expected it to be so… unchallenging. But when she is reacquainted with Simon and Baz, she gets to know Penelope Bunce- and suddenly life is a hell of a lot more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm back, and everything seems the same

"Don't forget to circulate."  
"Yes, Mama."  
"If you linger with one person too long, it'll look as if you've already established your alliances."  
"Yes, Mama." Annoyance and nerves- silly, nonsensical nerves; she'd been doing this her whole life- provoked Agatha into actual speech, as opposed to the phrase she'd been parroting the whole drive. "I do know what to do, Mama. I've spent the past year socializing in much trickier company."  
"Don't mention that to anyone," Mrs. Wellbelove said. "You've been on tour the past year, remember?"  
"Yes, Mama." She _had_ been on tour, more or less. Abroad, anyways.  
Mrs. Wellbelove scrutinized her daughter with a calculating gaze that would have made a robot proud. It revealed nothing, and Agatha, trained from an early age to sit as if she had a board strapped to her back and a stack of books on her head, shifted in her seat.  
"Did you review the list Miss Prudendroge gave you?"  
"Yes, Mama."  
"Have you memorized the names?"  
"Yes, Mama." Every wealthy, titled, or simply old family that had a son had been on that list- or, at least, almost every family. The World of Mages had changed since the defeat of the Insidious Humdrum a year and a half ago.  
The battle against the Humdrum had not remained within magical boundaries. The alliances Simon Snow had made in his school years had changed things. Like a pebble dropped into a pond, as clichéd as that analogy may be, Simon had created ripples. The World of Mages, tiny and stagnant, had had its duckweed disturbed and its decorative plaster ducks set a-spin.  
Agatha wrinkled her nose at her train of thought. She'd become inclined to tangents in the past year.  
But to extend the analogy: the ripples had drowned a few floating plaster ducks, and bobbed a few new ones to the top. And her mission- no, she corrected herself, her intention- was to catch one.  
Really, terrible analogy.  
Agatha shook herself mentally and glanced across the car at her father. He sat silent in his suit, mouth set in a serious line. He acknowledged her look with a nod and turned his head ever so slightly back to the window.  
Agatha almost sighed before she caught herself. The evening promised to be incredibly dull. "Mama, the list was missing a few names, was it not?"  
"Miss Prudendroge is adept at her work."  
"Yes, but what of the Larghousens? The Miracks? Jonathan Mirack is considered quite promising in many circles." And, more importantly, he wasn't really an option, in case her mother decided to agree. Jonathan lived up to his biblical namesake.  
"In many circles, yes, but not in all." Mrs. Wellbelove pursed her lips. It was out of the ordinary for her to do anything so matronly. "It would be safer for you to lavish your efforts on someone else. Stability is needed."  
Agatha nodded. The Wellbeloves had not escaped the ripples. They were safe, in their reputation and in their money, so old that it might have well been in Ancient Roman aurei, but changes were coming. "Yes, Mama."  
"Can you think of any of your... new acquaintances that might show up?"  
Agatha lifted both eyebrows. "At the Coralton party? I think not." It was too trivial for the better-known of them, too visible for the others. She herself was there unofficially, representing the Wellbeloves and nothing else.  
"Very well."  
The car stopped, and the driver's partition rolled down. Her mother placed the invitation in the driver's gloved hand, and the partition rolled up again.  
"Don't fidget," Mrs. Wellbelove said as they resumed motion.  
"Yes, Mama," Agatha said absently. She dropped her hand to her lap, and her mother leaned forward and tucked the strand of hair she'd pulled out of its proper place back.  
"You've impressed hosts much more difficult than Eloise Coralton, Agatha."  
"Yes," Agatha said. _But I've never had to hunt for a husband before._  
\-- - --  
Eloise Coralton was a wide, matronly sort of woman, always ready with a smile. Agatha wasn't fooled. No one could hold such a significant place in the mage world's high society if they were really as apple-pie as this woman seemed to be.  
"Miss Wellbelove, such a pleasure to finally meet you."  
"The pleasure is all mine," Agatha said. Her smile matched the hostess's in sweetness. "I've looked forward to my first real party for so long."  
Mrs. Coralton looked as if she wanted to say something more, but a new arrival drew her attention. "I hope you will enjoy yourself," she said, and moved to greet the elderly gentleman that had walked in.  
"Ah, Mr. Wellbelove!" A man Agatha vaguely recognized as one of the cigars-and-brandy circle men of a certain age always gravitated to approached her father. "Mrs. Wellbelove," he added. "And who might this fine young lady be?"  
Agatha cringed internally at that as her father introduced her to the man, whose name was apparently Middleton. He took her hand perfunctorily and turned his attention to her father. Agatha took this as her cue to leave, and slipped away into the crowd. She didn't need her parents to show her around. She'd either be approached in the next five minutes, or she'd hunt down an acquaintance. Felicity Worthington was probably somewhere.  
Five minutes later, Agatha took a deep breath and prepared to launch herself into the crowd. _Come on, Agatha, this is old hat. Just smile and flutter your eyelashes and look as if every bad quip they make is pure wit._  
"Agatha Wellbelove?" A girl with short dark hair and a hesitant smile approached her.  
Agatha's answering smile was more relieved than she would admit. "Atsuko? Fancy meeting you here."  
"Surely you're not surprised! The Agatha I knew was unflappable." Atsuko clasped her hand, and Agatha squeezed back.  
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm flapped right now," Agatha said. She gestured at the crowd. "This is nothing compared to Paris."  
"You're much less likely to get drunk and end up on top of a bookcase," Atsuko agreed.  
"Don't remind me. And don't tell anyone, either," Agatha said. She remembered that night very differently from Atsuko- less alcohol, more schmoozing and lying through her teeth.  
Atsuko laughed. "Of course. And if I do, you can tell them that I ended up in the fountain, singing revolutionary songs." She linked her arm with Agatha's. "Do you want to meet my new friends? I'm sure you know some of them."  
"I'll be happy to," Agatha said. Atsuko was from an old and wealthy family. Doubtless part of her circle would be on that awful list.  
\-- - --  
"I especially liked the botanical garden in Berlin," John Thorpe said. Atsuko's circle, for this party at least, was of young men and women who had, upon finishing school, toured the parts of the world their parents deemed fit.  
"The Berlin-Dahlem, yes! It was extraordinary," Atsuko said. The entire group murmured assent. "Agatha? Did you not enjoy them?"  
"I didn't go," Agatha said. Flowers, for some reason, were in fashion now. She made a mental note to find out why.  
"Oh, why not?"  
"My chaperone did not find Berlin to her liking, I'm afraid." Agatha shrugged lightly.  
Atsuko, who had met the fussy old aunt Agatha’s chaperone had pretended to be, nodded and moved on to another subject. Agatha continued to laugh and smile, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. John Thorpe was too loud and much too close for her liking. As an added bonus, her mother would approve if she left this circle to circulate. She excused herself and drifted away.  
\-- - --  
Agatha lifted her glass to her lips, taking only a tiny sip from the wine, and acknowledged the thought that had been growing in her mind the whole evening.  
Flirting was _hard._  
 _How did I ever manage it in high school? No, I know how. Simon was sweet and earnest; it wasn't flirting, it was holding hands and learning how to kiss. And Basilton was trying himself out on me, just like I was myself on him. None of us were playing the matchmaking game. More importantly, they weren't tipsy and abrasive. At worst, they were sweaty and cocksure. Oh, for simpler times, or at least for the more interestingly complicated ones._  
Agatha shook her head at herself and scanned the crowd for a group to join or someone to engage in conversation. She'd done so much vapid small talk that it made her head hurt. The past year had taught her how to find meanings in everything. Now she was faced with people whose small talk was completely meaningless, and it was too much.  
 _All I want is one intelligent conversation. I'd settle for insults._ Agatha scanned the crowd once more. Someone who didn't care that she was young and rich and single, someone who wouldn't patronize her or suck up to her...  
There. Looking bored and, as Debbie always said, 100% done with this shit, was Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. Strange that he was lurking on the sidelines, but at least he wasn't surrounded by a gaggle of trust-fund bubble-heads.  
She strode over, not bothering to pretend that their meeting was incidental. "Hello, Mr. Pitch."  
Basilton looked at her assessingly for a moment, and then a sarcastic smile slid into place. "Miss Wellbelove. What an unexpected surprise. I'd heard that you were on tour."  
"I was. Must we insist on such formalities? I think our shared history merits first-name basis, don't you?"  
"Not my first name," Basilton said. "Did you enjoy your tour, Agatha?"  
"I did, Basilton. This is a dreadful conversation."  
"My apologies." Basilton's mouth twisted into a smirk. "What would you like to speak of?"  
"Oh, my cynical manipulation of both you and Mr. Snow during our school years would be interesting," Agatha said. She inclined her head at him and took another sip of her wine.  
Baz looked at her coolly. "Was that an apology?"  
"That would be a terrible apology," Agatha said, and Basilton's smirk turned into something nicer.  
"It most definitely would, but I accept anyways. I'm gracious that way." He waved dismissively at the crowded room. "Why aren't you being kissed up to out there?"  
"I'm tired of it. I wanted to be insulted a bit."  
"You're out of luck, then. I don't insult people who could end my life, social or otherwise, with one finger."  
"I remember differently," Agatha said laughingly, and a familiar voice said from behind her, "Agatha?"  
She turned around, ready for a disapproving or nervous Simon, and got a glowing, happy one instead.  
"Simon, how are you?"  
"Well," Simon said. "I guess. Why are you here? I mean, not that it isn't nice to see you, but I thought you would be, um..." He ran a hand through his hair.  
"She got tired of being schmoozed at," Basilton said, and plucked one of two glasses from Simon's hand. "Give that here. I need alcohol to get through this nightmare of a party."  
"It isn't that bad," Simon said, although the way he looked at the nearest group of people and leaned against the wall next to Basilton belied his words.  
"It has to be pretty awful for you to think seeing Agatha is an improvement," Basilton said, and Simon flushed.  
"Baz! Why would you say that!"  
"She was a nasty piece of work in high school, you have to admit," Baz said conversationally, and Simon reddened even more.  
"I was," Agatha agreed. "So were you."  
"Still am," Basilton said.  
"No, you're not," Simon said. "And Agatha, neither were you."  
Agatha smiled at him warmly. "That's sweet, Simon. Your kindness is refreshing in this world of Basilton Pitches."  
"There's no other me," Basilton said. "You know what would be refreshing? Air."  
"You do look a bit warm." Simon looked concerned. "You're not...?"  
"About to go into a feeding frenzy and drink the blood of a hundred debutantes?"  
Agatha laughed and Simon grinned. "You could do the whole smarmy vampire thing. Too bad you don't have an opera cape."  
"I've already got a widow's peak, thank you very much." Basilton smoothed his hair away from his face. "I don't need a cape to complete the Dracula act."  
"Too bad. I know a Lucy I'd be glad to stake through the heart," Agatha said. Simon looked horrified. "I'm kidding. But if you wanted to off someone, I wouldn't miss John Thorpe."  
"Neither would I," Simon said.  
Agatha giggled. "What did he do? Did he flirt with your girlfriend?"  
"I don't have a girlfriend." Simon hesitated before adding, "He flirted with me."  
Agatha stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. "He didn't!"  
"He did. It was a horrible sight," Basilton said. "I had to step in before someone got hurt."  
"Why would anyone get hurt? If he'd been nicer and, um, quieter, I wouldn't have minded," Simon said. "But I wouldn't hit anyone for being annoying."  
"You hit me," Basilton pointed out. "But yes, I know you wouldn't have."  
Agatha watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. It was so extremely awkward and beating-around-the-bush that she felt sorry for them. "So, you two are here because of the fame thing, yes?" It wasn't the smoothest transition, but it would do.  
"Apparently, killing the monster that threatens to destroy all of magic gets you into parties," Simon said.  
"Sarcasm! Oh my, we'll make a cynic of you yet," Agatha said.  
"It's Penny's fault, she's said it so many times. And Baz, too," Simon said. "He says that if he'd known about the publicity, he would have let the world end."  
"Where is Penelope?" Agatha looked around idly. "She was never the kind to blend into the crowd."  
"She's studying for her college exams. Said she couldn't let her grades lapse just so she could eat cheese on a stick and talk about hats," Baz said.  
"Too bad. Another intelligent person in here would make a world of difference." Agatha smiled at them. "I've got to circulate, or my mother will have my head."  
"I wouldn't go against a Wellbelove woman for the world," Basilton said. "The Wellbeloves are famous for their womenfolk, and not in a pretty way," he explained to Simon.  
"That's me, scary and dangerous," Agatha said.  
"But in a pretty way," Simon said. He shook her hand earnestly. "Will we see you again soon?"  
"I'm in for the social season, so yes," Agatha said, shaking Basilton's hand. "Try not to suffer too much." She walked away, feeling a little less tense.  
\-- - --  
It was Agatha's sincere belief that Miss Prudendroge and people like her should be hanged, drawn and quartered. No one as dry as that should be allowed to walk the earth. It didn't matter that she was good at her job. In fact, it made it worse, because if Miss Prudendroge wasn't a matchmaker then Agatha could have gone her entire life without meeting her. As it was, they spent too much time in each other's company, and her mother's presence did not make it better.  
"Not Thorpe," Agatha said. It felt like the hundredth time she'd said it, but it also felt as if she'd spent a week in the sitting room, and her tea was still lukewarm, so that wasn't true.  
"Mr. Thorpe has a good reputation," Miss Prudendroge said. Agatha imagined the woman's mouth was the Ghobi, or the Sahara. Dry, dry, dry.  
"He's loud, inconsistent, proud, and extremely stupid. It's a wonder how his sister can be so clever and still share his genes."  
"Isabella Thorpe does well for herself," Mrs. Wellbelove agreed, although her tone said that _well for Isabella Thorpe_ was not the same as _well for Agatha Wellbelove_. "Perhaps her hunt is a touch desperate."  
Agatha could practically hear that little tidbit sliding into Miss Prudendroge's mental files. The Thorpes: less fortunate than they pretended to be.  
"Edmund Bertram," Miss Prudendroge suggests. "I have heard that he expressed interest in settling down."  
"Of course he has, the man's so conservative he's practically a pickle jar," Agatha snapped. "Mama, there has to be at least one man that isn't the flesh and blood equivalent of a ball and chain."  
"You haven't found one yet." Mrs. Wellbelove contemplated the delicate china teacup in her hands. "Once the season really starts, perhaps someone will show up that you aren't entirely opposed to. The Coralton party is known for its inherently young flavor. Age cures many of the qualities you've criticized in your peers."  
Agatha's stomach roiled. "How much age are we talking about? Five years? Ten?"  
"Thirty is a perfectly acceptable age for marriage, Agatha."  
"Gods in the heavens." Agatha set down her tea with a click. "Can't I wait a few years? I'm just out of school, surely an engagement can wait-"  
"An engagement, yes, but romantic ties need to be developed. You have been a year and a half out of school, and you spent most of that time away from your duties as heir to the Wellbelove family." Mrs. Wellbelove plucked a gingersnap from the plate on the table and nibbled it calmly.  
Miss Prudendroge's eyes flicked between them, and Agatha knew that she was trying to pick up information about Agatha's "tour".  
"Fine. Can I develop ties by myself, or should I look forward to these meetings after every party?" Agatha longed to rub her temples or cross her arms, but her mother didn't tolerate behavior short of perfect.  
"I think supervision is necessary at this point in time. Perhaps at a later stage less frequent consultation will be enough," Miss Prudendroge said.  
"As the future head of the Wellbelove family, shouldn't I be allowed some freedom as to my choice of life partner?" Agatha asked.  
"You do have freedom," Mr. Wellbelove said, and Agatha's mind snapped to the list of names and the descriptions of every candidate and, most of all, to that conversation which hadn't even been a conversation, just her mother's second of surprise and, "Well, that shouldn't change anything."  
"I don't. I don't, I don't, I'm just a plaything! I thought I'd be better off than other girls because this family is supposed to be a family of matriarchs, but I was wrong, I'm just a slightly different chess piece." Agatha clenched her hands in her lap. "You're taking away a part of me."  
"We discussed this, Agatha. Miss Prudendroge will recommend men, but a match with a suitable young lady will be approved."  
"Suitable people are horrors I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemies," Agatha said.  
"You speak of your peers," Mrs. Wellbelove said coolly. "Don't think yourself better than them because your interests have changed from your childhood interests and theirs have not. You had the same upbringing, the same goals, and only coincidence changed that."  
 _That's not true, it wasn't coincidence. Not only coincidence, anyway._ "I don't think myself better than them. Just smarter, and more interesting."  
"Experience and intelligence aren't the same. Your year... abroad, gave you experience." Was Agatha imagining it, or did her mother actually look understanding? "Give it time, and they will be better companions. More time, and you can focus a little less on parties. In the meantime, you are twenty and attractive. People would look at you askance if you decided to give up dancing for work."  
"I know, Mama." Agatha picked up her tea again. It was stone cold, a side effect of tiny teacups made of thin porcelain. "Miss Prudendroge, you may proceed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love using name meanings for minor character characterization (and major character, but shh). Here are the ones for this chapter:  
> Prudendroge- from prude, and "droge" is dry in Dutch.  
> Larghousens- okay, I cheated here. Literally large house. Flashy nouveau riche isn't good enough for Mrs. Wellbelove's little girl.  
> Jonathan Mirack- Mirack from mirror (yes, I cheated again), reflecting Agatha's situation back to herself- which brings us to Jonathan, who was the son of Saul and David's bff- no, guys, they were totally gay for each other. Taken from David's Lament, Samuel 2 chapter 1:  
> "I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother;  
> you were very dear to me.  
> Your love for me was wonderful,  
> more wonderful than that of women."  
> Pretty shitty for David's first wife, Jonathan's sister, huh? But then again Michal got a shitty deal all way round, and don't even get me started, really.  
> Eloise Coralton- Eloise means "wide", or "hale, healthy". Coral is a bright shade of red.  
> Felicity Worthington- Fee is a character from the Gemma Doyle trilogy by Libba Bray. Felicity is clever, charming, blonde, beautiful, rich, a debutante and (spoilers ahead) lesbian and in love with her best friend. She's also a very troubled person who's gone through a lot of hardship, but the analogy to Agatha stops with 'English socialite who is more than she seems'. (spoilers over)  
> Atsuko- a Japanese name, atsu meaning either "warm", "kind" or "honest" and ko meaning "child". Here, it's either the "warm' or the "kind" meaning.  
> John Thorpe- John Thorpe and his sister Isabella are nasty scheming gold-diggers from Jane Austen's "Northanger Abbey".  
> The Berlin-Dahlem Botanical Garden and Botanical Museum is exactly what it says on the tin, plus huge. I haven't actually been there.  
> Lucy Westenra's fate in Dracula is nothing short of Victorian pornography. Also, I find Dracula incredibly sexist as well as funny, because it's so ridiculous.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from "Let's Dance To Joy Division" by The Wombats.  
> The title of this fic references "Fiddler on the Roof" but specifically the iconic "Matchmaker" song. "Hodel, oh Hodel, have I made a match for you! He's handsome, he's young! Alright, he's 62."


	2. Is there any possibility you'll quit gossiping about me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid confusion- there's a time skip in the middle of the chapter. The phone conversation happens a month or two after the party where Penny and Agatha meet. Traditionally the social season started after Christmas and lasted until June. Here, Agatha's getting a head start on her schmoozing and making up for lost time; Baz doesn't give a damn; Penny and Simon are somewhat oblivious, plus Simon does this kind of stuff all year round now that he's (even more of) a celebrity.

Despite the wide hall the Scholaidhes used to host their party, the gathering was much quieter than the one at the Coraltons’. It wasn't much of a challenge, being mostly comprised of intellectuals and students, therefore lacking most of her year, which was a blessing. Agatha herself, as a kind of social debutante, was obliged to accept almost every invitation, although this one had been a bit surprising- she certainly wasn’t a student, and had no interest in the religious subtext of Emily Dickinson’s poems. At least this one wasn't extended to her parents as well.  
 _When did I start expecting social interaction to be a challenge?_ Agatha mused as she nodded at a cousin. _My year away spoiled me. I've gotten used to either quadruple meanings in everything, or straightforward talk._  
"Miss Wellbelove?" A man she recognized as Jonathan Mirack approached her. She'd only met him a few times, but all of them had made a favorable impression. Her favorite part of that impression had been that he never, ever flirted with her.  
"Mr. Mirack. It's lovely to see you again, even if it is in such depressing circumstances." She shook his hand.  
"Depressing?" Jonathan glanced around the prettily furnished hall, with its painted partitions and cheery guests. "What has distressed you?"  
"No one is saying anything interesting," Agatha said.  
Jonathan smiled. "It's true that I've been asked about my opinion of micro-economy a couple more times than strictly necessary, but there are interesting conversationalists even in this crowd. Perhaps you've been associating with the wrong people?"  
"Debutantes are not known for their scintillating conversation, it's true. However, I'm expected to keep certain company," Agatha said.  
Jonathan nodded, and Agatha offered up a prayer of thanks for people who could take hints. "I could introduce you to some of my acquaintances, if you wish."  
"I'd like that," Agatha sad, feeling only marginally guilty that she wasn't doing exactly what her mother wanted of her. She was establishing connections. The world was changing, and the house of Wellbelove could change with it.  
Besides, the kind of people Jonathan associated with could be useful for other... interests.  
\-- - --  
"The situation in Germany is much better than could have been hoped for, but with the changes in the social atmosphere, who knows what could happen?" Jonathan Mirack said.  
"No, you're wrong," said Mark Carter. "The changes are improving the situation."  
"I'd say the situation has already been improved," Agatha said, carefully off-handed, and noticed both men relax ever so slightly. They were actually invested in the changes happening around them, even if they weren't actually involved.  
"Your tour seems to have been very informative, Miss Wellbelove," Ruya Ajam said. She smiled as she said it, and Agatha reminded herself that Miss Ajam was a very smart person and probably more perceptive than even Mr. Mirack.  
"It was. I learned ever so much about foreigners." Agatha widened her eyes. "Why, did you know that in some places they speak a different language?"  
"I think you speak a different language yourself," Miss Ajam said.  
"Yemkenk alethedth bha wekdelk af'el," Agatha said, and smiled ruefully as Miss Ajam laughed. "I know, my accent is terrible."  
"But you tried, which does you credit."  
"What did you say?" Mr. Carter asked curiously.  
"Something horribly rude," Agatha said with a straight face. "It's good that Miss Ajam doesn't have a weak heart, otherwise she might have fainted from the shock."  
"Ah, but one of you would have caught me! No?" She looked around her. "I'm surrounded by traitors."  
"When did you learn Arabic, Miss Wellbelove?" Mirack asked. "I knew you spoke French and German, but not Arabic."  
"I only know a little, I'm afraid, and even what I know sounds atrocious," Agatha said, dodging the question. "You sound surprised that I know another language."  
"It's the second time I've been surprised by someone speaking a foreign language this evening. I'm beginning to think there's a conspiracy."  
"Who was the first one?" Agatha asked.  
"Penelope Bunce. She said something in Gaelic, of all things, but I can't remember what it was... something about museums?" Marick looked at Carter, who shrugged. "Have you met Miss Bunce, Miss Wellbelove?"  
"We went to school together, in the same year," Agatha said. If Penelope was at the party, Basilton and Simon should be there too, but she hadn't seen them. Curious.  
"You should get to know her," Mirack said. He scanned the milling people. "Ah, there she is. I'll invite her into the conversation. She expressed an interest..." He strode off without finishing the sentence, and came back a few seconds later with Penelope in tow.  
"Miss Penelope Bunce, may I introduce you to Miss Ruya Ajam?"  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ajam. I've heard of your research, it's quite fascinating." Penelope extended a hand, and Miss Ajam took it with a smile.  
"Thank you. It's rare to find someone who actually thinks that."  
"Miss Agatha Wellbelove you've met before, I believe."  
Penelope shook her hand politely, but her smile was very different from the one she'd given Miss Ajam. "Agatha, it's been a while."  
"It has." Agatha searched for something to say that would ease the tension, but came up blank. Why was there even tension? "You're looking well."  
"As are you." Penelope turned to Mirack. "Was there anything you wanted specifically, Jonathan?"  
"I thought you would be interested in the conversation," he said, and launched into a discussion of language as influenced by social change. Which wasn't what they'd been talking about, really, but close enough.  
Agatha listened to the conversation, most of which went right over her head. Jonathan Mirack was the kind of person who was well read in everything, Penelope seemed to be holding her own, and Miss Ajam's research turned out to be in linguistics. Carter drifted away, but Agatha hardly noticed, because the word wow was echoing in her head.  
Penelope had been an ordinary looking girl in school, as far as Agatha was concerned. She'd been popular in certain circles by dint of being both very clever and very kind, and also quite nosy. The woman in front of her wasn't ordinary at all; if not beautiful, she could at the very least be called attractive. It might have been the change from drab school uniform to elegant dress, but a school uniform couldn't hide her face, or the glow that she took on while debating.  
 _Keep it together, you idiot. You've seen plenty of pretty people,_ Agatha scolded herself. Still, she couldn't help staying to listen in on the conversation, which gradually turned into a discussion of literature, which Agatha was gratified to find she could follow.  
Finally Mr. Mirack was hailed by a friend and left the conversation, and Miss Ajam excused herself. Penelope looked around and found herself alone with Agatha, and judging by her expression, she wasn't too happy about it.  
Before Penelope could go, Agatha said, "Are you studying linguistics at the university?"  
"No." Penelope scrutinized Agatha. "How do you know I'm in university?"  
"Simon and Basilton mentioned it when I saw them at the Coralton party. Where are they, by the way?"  
"They couldn't make it," Penelope said. She gave a quick joyless smile. "Please excuse me."  
"Wait," Agatha blurted. She could feel herself blushing. How embarrassing, to get flustered like a fifteen year old.  
Penelope crossed her arms. "Yes?"  
"Why don't you like me?" Agatha asked. _Oh, perfect. I sound like an egomaniac._  
"Why don't I like you?" Penelope raised her eyebrows.  
"Obviously you're not obligated to like me," Agatha said quickly. "But although we never interacted much at Watford, you were never this cold."  
"I," Penelope said, hesitating. She shook her head. "This is silly."  
"Please, tell me. I want to know."  
"Okay, if you want to know, then I'll tell you. I didn't mind so much back in high school, because although it was absolutely ridiculous, Simon and Baz were both trying to get back at one another, and you obviously weren't really going to hurt either at the. You almost cared," Penelope said. Her voice was quiet, but bitter. "But now? They don't need you playing with their emotions. They've been through enough without someone manipulating them. I could forgive you for pitting them at each other in high school and doing the whole love-triangle thing because you were as lost as they were. But now? You're confident and in your element, and yet they come to me and sing your praises."  
"Sing my praises?" Agatha spread her hands, trying to pretend that she wasn’t taken aback. "We talked for a few minutes. Simon seemed happy to see me, although I have no idea why, and Baz was friendly enough. I wanted to talk to normal people at a party full of airheads. I wasn't manipulating them, nor do I intend to."  
"I wish I could believe you."  
"Penelope, I've changed. I have. I spent the time since graduation changing."  
"I don't see any proof of that." Penelope tilted her head up. A challenge.  
Well, Agatha wasn't one to back down from a challenge, although the voice of reason in her head told her that she was one to skirt around a challenge and make it disappear. "I spent the last year abroad-"  
"Yes, I know, on tour."  
"Let me finish. I spent the last year abroad, working with the Departments and Agency of Magical Protection and Regulation. Well, the Agency really. Specifically, the social aspect. I wormed my way into suspect company and opened the door for the real agents if the need arose."  
Penelope stared at her in silence, and Agatha felt a dire need to erase the past minute and make her escape. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone. _Fuck._  
"Why would the DAMPR use you?" Penelope asked finally. "They're a serious organization. They don't need inexperienced girls to do their work."  
"They do headhunt in schools, though. My roommate caught their eye, and they decided I was a good partner for Debora to start with, so they approached us. Apparently, they lost people, what with the... the Insidious Humdrum, and they needed young people." Agatha shrugged. "Debora stayed on; I was called home."  
"Why are you even telling me this?" Penelope asked.  
Search me. Agatha gave her a weak smile. "I can't stand the thought of you considering me cruel." It surprised her that it was so true. Gods, I'm pathetic.  
"You told me state secrets because my opinion matters?"  
"They're not exactly state secrets, but I would be grateful if you didn't tell anyone." Agatha resisted the urge to wipe her damp hands on her dress. She'd just spilled everything she wasn't supposed to because a pretty girl was disappointed in her.  
 _She's really pretty, though. And kind, and intelligent, and honest..._  
 _Shut up,_ she told herself.  
"Alright, I won't." Penelope looked at her curiously, then shrugged. "But don't expect me to become your bosom friend."  
"I wouldn't dream of it, Anne with an e," Agatha said.  
"No to the Anne Shirley references." Penelope glanced at the crowd, and then looked back at Agatha. "Do you know anyone here?"  
"No one interesting, except for Mr. Mirack and his friends. You?"  
"Jonathan and his friends. They're very interesting."  
"They are that," Agatha agreed. "But when you find yourself thrust into society suddenly, famous overnight and with a heap of responsibility and expectations on your shoulders, you need all sorts of connections."  
Penelope propped a hand on her hip. "You're awfully direct."  
"You're awfully in need of a proper introduction," Agatha retorted. "It'll make your life easier, if you want to use that reputation all three of you have gained."  
"What would I use it for?" Once again, a challenge.  
"I can think of a few things." Agatha offered her arm. "Shall we?"  
Penelope blinked at the offered arm and linked her arm with Agatha's.  
Only in the midst of introducing Penelope to the nephew of the dean of Greenwich University's Department of Magics, did Agatha realize that she'd offered her arm as if Penelope should rest her hand upon it. She nearly choked.  
\-- - --  
"Hi, Penelope?"  
"No, it's the Queen. Who d'you think answers my phone?"  
"I could tell you stories."  
"Somehow, that sounds like a proposition."  
"..."  
"I can't believe I said that. I'm running on fumes and coffee here."  
"Project due?"  
"Yeah, and I finished it at three in the morning and had to get up at six and attend class. I hate uni."  
Agatha smiled. "You love uni."  
Penelope sighed. "I do."  
Since that first awkward conversation, and the evening that followed it, Penelope had adopted Agatha as her sponsor. Agatha had to admit that Penelope was an excellent protégé. She had a shrewd eye for subtext, and understood age-old feuds and calculating flirts quickly, even though she sniffed disapprovingly at anything petty. Climbing the ranks was hard work, but Penelope took to it easily. She'd decided that it was better if Agatha didn't involve herself too closely in Simon's debut, and along with Baz, had begun bolstering his image. The sight of Simon Snow shaking hands and laughing along with, as Penelope put it, 'snooty rich people', was remarkably satisfying. With the heir to the wealthy and now trusted Pitch family to give him a push, and the increasingly popular Penelope Bunce to cover his blunders, and his own inherent goodness, the snooty rich people melted into gooey puddles of adoration.  
"So, why'd you call? Not that I don't enjoy our talks, but the coffee is gone and I'm about to fall asleep propped up against the door to my flat if I don't find the keys."  
"Did you get any mail?"  
"Why, did you send any? If you've sent me a sneeze spell in an envelope I'll kill you."  
"Sneeze spell in- never mind, don't tell me, I can guess. No, it's an invitation."  
"Invitation? Where's the party?" There was a clinking noise and then the click of a lock.  
"My mother decided that I should start off small with the matriarch empire, so I'm throwing a tea party." Agatha made her voice sugary sweet. "My very first tea party. I'm so excited! Do you think there'll be cupcakes?"  
"Aren't cupcakes too tacky for the grand Wellbeloves?" Someone spoke in the background, and Penelope said "it's Agatha." There was something that sounded like a question. "Oh, you're very funny."  
"Was that Leslie? What did she say?"  
"Something rude and nosy, as USUAL. Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to shout in your ear. So, I have an invite to your super special tea party?"  
"Yes, if you can make it."  
"When?"  
"Sunday, four in the afternoon."  
"I'll be there. Any special instructions?"  
"Yes." Agatha hesitated. "My mother doesn't entirely approve of you, but I've managed to arrange it so you're not the scandalous student in a pot of debutantes, so if you're extra perfect there shouldn't be any problem."  
"Your mother doesn't approve of me? Is she afraid I'm going to seduce you with my scandalous middle class ways?"  
"More or less, except less with the middle class and more with the serious college degree and singleness."  
"You want to go to college?"  
"I thought maybe politickal science? Or myths and magics, but I'd prefer that as a minor."  
"Sounds varied. Have you thought of something more analytical?"  
"I could do chemistry as a minor..."  
"You could, if you wanted to kill yourself. Look, I'll tell you what everyone told me: poke around, maybe take a course, before you decide to commit yourself to two areas of study."  
"And did you listen?"  
"I wouldn't have, but Sorcerous Biology doesn't allow a minor. It's ten topics rolled into one as it is."  
"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."  
"Yeah." Penelope yawned. "Oops, sorry."  
"It's okay. You should get some sleep."  
"Mhm. Agatha?"  
"Yes?"  
There was a pause. "Do you really want me there?"  
"Of course I do. I invited you. Why?"  
"Don't take this the wrong way, but are you just trying to prove a point to your mom?"  
"I am so taking that the wrong way. No, I am not using you to get back at my mother for my empty childhood and vanquished dreams."  
"What about for your sexual impotence?"  
Agatha let out a sound that was part laugh and part disbelieving cry. "Fuck you."  
"That's all right, let it out."  
"Oh my gods, Penelope, I will smack you when I see you next."  
"They say violence is indicative of sexual frustration."  
"Is this what happens when you're ready to pass out? You get randy and use big words?"  
"You said randy." Penelope giggled.  
"Get some sleep or I will send you a farting spell."  
"Ew. What are you, five? Fine, I'll go to bed. It's ten in the evening, but I'll go to bed."  
"Good night."  
"Good night. And Agatha? Thanks."  
"For what?"  
"You know." Penelope hung up. Agatha's theory was that her habit of hanging up without quite reaching the end of the discussion was the result of years of conversations with emotionally constipated boys.  
Agatha set her phone on her bed and felt warmth curl in her stomach. Her friendship with Penelope had grown quickly. Phone calls and text messages never failed to cheer her up, and even small talk at parties was nicer with Penelope in the conversation. Agatha wondered if it was the same for Penelope.  
 _What am I doing? This isn't just friendship, I'm falling for her. Mama made it clear that women were a last resort, and she certainly wouldn't approve of Penelope. I'm dooming myself to a crush I'll never get over._  
Agatha flopped onto her back dramatically and smiled at the teenage angst the move radiated. "Get over yourself," she said to the empty room.  
But she couldn't help looking at her phone again.  
\-- - --  
"He's utterly charming. Not at all like he seemed on the news. Tell me, Miss Bunce, is he single?"  
Penelope stared in faint horror at the speaker.  
Agatha suppressed a sigh. The tea party had been going so well. The guests were intelligent women, and two of them, apart from Penelope, were known to support the factions pushing for change in Watford and the World of Mages in general, one actively so. But at some point someone had mentioned Simon, which Agatha supposed was inevitable, and from then it had been a slippery slope. She'd tried to turn the conversation down a different lane, but no one could stop the bulldozer that was the will of an ambitious debutante.  
Intelligent, Agatha was being reminded, didn't necessarily mean an interesting conversationalist.  
"Are you together? There hasn't been an official announcement, but you seem quite close-"  
The suggestion that she was involved with Simon jolted Penelope out of her silence. "No, I'm not involved with him, but as far as him being single goes, you can ask Simon yourself."  
"What about Mr. Pitch?  
 _That girl,_ Agatha thought amusedly, _has the subtlety of a rhinoceros._  
"Mr. Pitch's romantic status is his own tale to tell," Penelope said. She'd recovered enough to smile sweetly at the speaker, a Miss Crawford, and sip her tea, but Agatha could see that Penelope's hands were clenched tightly around the cup. "May I ask why you're interested?"  
Miss Crawford looked surprised. "Isn't it obvious?"  
"Miss Bunce isn't as familiar with the matchmaking market as you are," Agatha interjected. "She isn't familiar with the competitiveness."  
"You make it sound like a sport," Penelope said with a half-smile.  
"It is. Hunting."  
"Miss Wellbelove!" Miss Crawford fluttered her eyelashes. The woman sitting next to her frowned. "Hunting is such a crass word. So unfeminine."  
"Au contraire. Both Miss Bunce and I have gone hunting. It was quite an experience, was it not?"  
"Oh?" The frowning woman, Miss Storm, leaned forward. "What did you hunt?"  
"A bandersnatch, in my case," Penelope said. She nodded at Agatha. "Miss Wellbelove hunted for rabbits, I believe."  
"Hares. Although they turned out to be magical constructs bent on destruction and death." Agatha heard a sniff from the corner of the room and glanced over at the chaperone sitting in the corner. A second cousin, and sure to tell her mother everything. She turned her gaze back to the group gathered around the tea table. "Let's talk of something more interesting, shall we?"  
"Yes, let's return to our former subject." Miss Crawford's eyes glinted with a predatory spark. "Miss Bunce, what is your opinion of, as our lovely host put it, the matchmaking market?"  
 _We pushed too far. Mary Crawford is famous for her aggression._ Agatha stared at Penelope, hoping to convey a message. How did one say 'stop needling her or she'll take you down' without actually talking?  
"I don't really have an opinion of it, as I have no experience of it." Penelope's expression was bland. Agatha was impressed.  
Miss Crawford, however, was going for the throat. "No firsthand experience, perhaps. Has our lovely host not told you of her own experiences?"  
Penelope's eyes flickered towards Agatha. "We discuss different things, usually."  
"Perhaps she is too shy!" Miss Crawford's laugh was high and sweet. "So many conquests! The boys- or rather, the men, I should say- flock to her like flies to honey."  
"She is sweet," Penelope agreed, and Agatha's heart leapt in her chest, "but I think that flies would be the wrong analogy. Miss Wellbelove draws productive, good people to her."  
Agatha smiled at Penelope, a real smile that Penelope returned. "Thank you, Miss Bunce."  
Miss Crawford glanced from one to the other, and her lips curled up complacently. "Perhaps she would not speak of it, because she would rather the men weren't as drawn to her as they are? Perhaps you would prefer to attract something else, Miss Wellbelove?"  
"Perhaps it is none of our business," Penelope said coldly.  
Miss Grange, sitting across from Agatha, leaned forward. "Have you heard about the Nymphadoras' party?"  
"No, what?" a chorus of voices asked her. Agatha breathed a relieved sigh as Miss Grange told them about the rumors of a proper band and a dance party. It wasn't the most subtle of subject changes, but as the speculation rose as to which band it would be, Miss Grange winked at her, and Agatha nodded back.  
\-- - --  
Penelope was the last guest, lingering after the others had left, chattering and thanking their host for a lovely party. She was leaning her head on the couch's armrest when Agatha came back from escorting the chaperone to her mother's study.  
Agatha sank into an arm chair and let her head fall back. "Ugh. Thank the faery courts that's over."  
"Is it always this bad?" Penelope got up from her couch and took the chair next to Agatha's.  
"No, that really was a horror. Well, parts of it. Remind me to ruin Mary Crawford's reputation. I'm sorry I didn't warn you about her. The woman's a hyena."  
"Agatha..." Penelope's tone was careful. "Are you in the matchmaking market?"  
"If you mean do I trade in single people and engagement rings, then no." Penelope made an impatient noise, and Agatha relented. "I'm a twenty year old single woman, the heir to my house. What do you think?"  
"So you're looking for a husband?" Agatha could hear Penelope fidgeting in her chair. It was understandable, because the business made Agatha sick, and she was used to it.  
"My mother wants me to marry suitably, and she wants me to start looking now. I meet with a matchmaker, which, let me tell you, is about as fun as it looks in Fiddler on the Roof. I go to parties and make nice, albeit not with the people my mother would want me too. The world is changing, but she doesn't see it. She wants me to marry into old money. Basil would be good," Agatha said.  
"Do you want to marry Baz?"  
"Good gods, no!" Agatha sat up. "Ew."  
Penelope giggled. "He wouldn't have you anyways."  
"It's true," Agatha sighed. She pressed one hand to her forehead and the other to her heart. "As sweet and beautiful as I am, I simply don't have the dick."  
"You're disgusting." Penelope tossed a decorative cushion at her, and Agatha ducked so it hit her in the face instead of the chest. "Ha, loser."  
"You're the one who called me sweet," Agatha retorted.  
Penelope paused in her search for another pillow. "What does that have to do with anything? You are sweet."  
Warmth bloomed in Agatha's chest. "I'm not sweet. I'm manipulative and underhand."  
"You're smart and subtle. It's wasted on tea parties, if you ask me. You should do more of the work you were doing before."  
"You think so?" Agatha traced the embroidered pattern on the cushion Penelope had thrown at her. "I want to do something meaningful, instead of waste my time with petty politicking."  
"Well, if you really want to do good and change things, inside the system is a good place to start."  
Agatha lifted her head. Penelope was looking at her steadily. "But you have a better idea?"  
"I do," Penelope said. "You're influential and you have plenty of experience working with people."  
"Do you want to recruit me for the cause, Penelope?" Agatha asked drily. "There's no need."  
Penelope's expression turned blank. "Of course not. I was simply talking."  
"There's no need because you don't have to recruit me, sheesh. Take off the block-face. You know I care about what happens in the World of Mages, and that I agree that things need to change. Speciesm, treating children like warriors, the whole system is rotten. Where better to start than our own dear Watford?" Agatha threw out her arms in a dramatic gesture that turned into a lazy stretch.  
"Did you just condense my whole political angle into two sentences?" Penelope asked, laughter in her voice.  
"Three sentences. What can I say, I'm great like that." Agatha stretched again. A finger poked her in the stomach and she folded in. "Hey!"  
"Let that be a lesson to you." Penelope pulled out her phone from the pocket of her dress and glanced at the screen. "My ride's here. We'll talk about this again, yeah?"  
"Of course. I don't really know what I'm doing here. I just know I want change. You seem to have things under control, though." Agatha walked her to the door and waited until she'd put on her coat. She wrapped her scarf around Penelope's neck and felt the urge to lean forward and kiss Penelope's nose. Instead, she stepped outside with her friend and waved goodbye.   
Agatha watched as the driver's window rolled down and Baz stuck his head out. "Come on, loser, we're going shopping!"  
"What does that even mean?" came Simon's voice as Penelope opened the door to the backseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scholaidhe- when I wrote this, I was under the impression that it meant scholar in Irish. However, the actual surname I meant to use was Ó Scolaidhe, so consider Scholaidhe an anglicized version. I apologize for mangling it.  
> Ruya Ajam- Ruya means "vision, sight" in Arabic; Ajam means "foreigner" in Arabic. She might pop up again, since I really like her. By the way, Ruya isn't the same age as the four magical idiots. She's at least five years older, and an academic, not a socialite.  
> "Yemkenk alethedth bha wekdelk af'el" roughly translates as "you speak it as well as I" in written Arabic. It's a terrible, terrible translation, probably, because I didn't pay attention in high school and had to use translation engines.  
> Mark Carter isn't a reference to Peggy Carter, but in light of recent- whatever, it is. Three cheers for Agent Carter and Hayley Atwell!  
> You know how Greenwich is pronounced Grenich? Well, forget that, it's pronounced Greenwitch. All the puns.  
> Leslie is Penny's roommate from Watford. Debora (mentioned in the first chapter as Debbie) was Agatha's Watford roomie. My headcanon is that the degree of success the roommate pairings get varies- Debbie and Agatha are still friends and always will be, Leslie and Penny more so, and Baz and Simon are in love.  
> Mary Crawford is a clever, relatively modern woman from Austen's "Mansfield Park" who is often villainised by readers. Personally, I think she's a great character, even though she can be quite awful (and I ship her with Fanny. Don't tell.)  
> Nymphadora- what is Simon Snow but a humongous Harry Potter reference? Well, a lot of things, but anyways, Tonks.  
> Agatha's family has pagan roots- she'll swear by the faery courts and the gods, plural. I headcanon the Wellbeloves in this 'verse as having a drop of faery blood far back in their family tree, long enough ago that no one remembers and all that's left is a few traditions.  
> Yes, there's a Mean Girls ref. No, Simon hasn't seen it yet, but you can be assured that Baz will fix that.
> 
> Chapter title from "Girls" by Marina and the Diamonds.


	3. It's so appropriate the way we amplify the sound

The Nymphadoras' party came Christmas Eve, which meant that its participants were all young folk, looking for fun or an escape from drinking eggnog with their families. Agatha would almost have preferred her parents' sitting room and the too-perfect Christmas tree dropping an errant needle into her father's eggnog. The party promised to be loud and free and fun, and all Agatha wanted was to curl up under a blanket. Preferably with cocoa or a good book or Penelope, but she'd settle for her own messy emotions.  
 _It's way too early in the evening to be thinking like this,_ she thought wryly, looking up at the heavily decorated front of the house. _I need to be drunker to feel sorry for myself._  
Once she shed her coat and stepped into the ballroom, the noise enveloped her, and Agatha felt some of her bad feeling ebb. She knew what to do here.  
It only took a minute for someone to find her. She almost jumped out of her skin when a cold, dry hand wrapped around her wrist. Baz grinned down at her, displaying a set of teeth that would be the envy of a toothpaste ad, if not for the pointy fangs. "Come on, Simon and Penny are over there!"  
Agatha nodded. His grip on her arm slackened, and she followed him through the crowds. The band hadn't started playing yet, but the anticipation was palpable. No one knew who it was, and the rumors had gotten crazier and crazier.  
Baz caught her looking at the stage and the instruments set up there. "I hear they got Elvis to play!"  
Agatha laughed. "I hear it's Jimi Hendrix!"  
"Jimi Hendrix is dead, Agatha, but Elvis was taken by aliens!" Baz pulled her around a group that looked as if they'd been drinking for hours and parked them in front of Simon.  
"Merry Christmas," Simon said, his voice drowned out by the gaggle of drunks next to them.  
"Merry Christmas, Simon. Are you wishing for a white Christmas?" Agatha grinned up at him and nudged Baz.  
"Snow!" Baz crowed. "Snow for Snow!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
"Are you drunk already?" Simon laughed.  
"No, more's the pity. Where's Penny?" Baz stood on his toes and scanned the crowd. He looked like a kid, and it filled Agatha with an ache. Neither Baz nor Simon had really had a childhood.  
"She went to get drinks after you left, but I don't know where she's getting the drinks from. It's taking her ages."  
"When she comes back we'll move away from these nitwits," Baz said, loud enough that some of said nitwits glared at him. He grinned at them and they looked away, either placated or scared.  
"There she is!" Simon waved, and Baz joined him. Agatha decided to save what dignity she had. Besides, she wasn’t tall enough to be seen over the crowd, and Penelope was shorter.  
"Did you bring me booze?" Baz asked when Penelope reached them. She shook her head at him but pushed a few glasses of colorful drinks at his chest.  
"This is too fancy to be called booze. I can't rightly drink my weight in bright green cocktails," Baz said, handling the glasses easily and offering one to Simon, who took it gingerly.  
"You shouldn't drink your weight in any kind of alcohol," he said, taking a sip. "And this is awful."  
"Get your own drink if you're going to complain," Penelope said. She turned to Agatha. "Merry Christmas," she said, slightly out of breath.  
"Merry Christmas," Agatha repeated. Her smile threatened to stretch her face permanently out of shape. "You look-" She waved vaguely at Penelope's long blue dress.  
"Thank you," Penelope said. She twirled. Agatha reminded herself that staring was impolite. "You too."  
"I look nice too, don't I, Pen?" Baz draped an arm around her. "I'm handsome!"  
"Go hang on someone else, you lump," Penelope said, pushing his arm off.  
"Molest Simon a bit," Agatha offered, and Simon blushed. "He looks very handsome. You'll be quite a pair."  
"May I have the first dance, then, Simon?" Baz asked, sweeping a bow.  
"Uh-" Simon began. Regretfully, he was saved by a loud cheer from the crowd. Someone had entered the stage.  
"I'm honored that you've all come to my little party!" The woman on stage laughed at the loud cheers from the crowd. "I know you're all eager to see who's playing for you tonight! So without further ado, I give you... The Magic Moose!"  
A scream erupted from the crowd as the band walked onto the stage and arranged themselves around their instruments. Agatha caught Penelope's eye and was surprised to see Penelope bouncing on her toes. She stepped closer to Penelope and laid a hand on her arm.  
Penelope leaned up to shout in her ear. "I love this band!"  
"Me too," Agatha shouted back. "I think everyone does."  
The lead singer tapped the microphone, and the ballroom went quiet. "Have you heard the tale, of the moose that saved the world? I swear he did, boys and girls..." It was what they started every show with, and everyone listened, eyes wide, breath caught.  
"I've never heard any of their songs," Simon murmured, his eyes on the stage.  
Agatha turned her head in time to see Baz give Simon a fond, exasperated look. "Sure you have. Crowley's Son? I Don't Want a Wendigo? Why Does it Always Fall to Us to Avert the Apocalypse?"  
"Oh, right."  
The singer had stopped talking. He took a step back from the microphone and held up a fist, unfolding his fingers one by one. One, two, three four five!  
The band began playing and the ballroom erupted in movement. From the corner of her eye, Agatha saw Simon drag a surprised Baz into the crowd.  
"Let's dance!" Penelope shouted in her ear.  
"Yeah!" Agatha took both of Penelope's hands and plunged them into the jumping, swaying crowd. Caught up in the movement of others and pressed close to Penelope lest they be separated, she began singing along with the words. "A small piece of advice, that took 22 years in the make, and I will break it to you now-"  
"Please learn from my mistakes, please learn from my mistakes!" the crowd shouted.  
"Let's dance to joy division, and celebrate the irony..."  
\-- - --  
"What time is it?" Penelope's voice rang loud in the relative quiet, and everyone else flinched. "Sorry."  
Baz sprawled over the sofa he was sharing with Simon. "Forget the time, Pen. You're young and free and drunk."  
"It's twenty past one," Simon said, glancing at the clock on the mantel.  
"Thanks," Penelope said. "See, Baz, this is why people like Simon."  
"Spolisport," Baz said, and kicked his legs in Simon's lap.  
"Careful, Baz, that's a delicate area!" Simon caught at Baz's legs, narrowly missing getting hit in the face by a flying shoe.  
"Yeah?" Baz sat up a bit and smirked at Simon. "Why's that?"  
"It's got my-" Simon glanced at Penelope, who was rubbing her feet, and Agatha, who blinked at him and gave him the thumbs up. "My bits in it!"  
"Your bits?" Baz said incredulously.  
"He means his family jewels," Penelope said. "His meat and two veg. His socks."  
"Socks? I've never heard that one before," Agatha said. She plucked at the front of her dress and fanned herself awkwardly with the cloth.  
"Got it from a book." Penelope looked over at her. "Crowley, Agatha, don't do that!"  
"Why? I'm warm and I can't hike up the skirt and if I take off my stockings I'm bound to make a run in them."  
"You're showing your boobs," Penelope hissed, and Baz snorted.  
"Baz is gay and Simon doesn't give a damn," Agatha said lazily.  
"Hear, hear," Baz said. Simon nodded, although his face was flushed. Probably for a different reason, Agatha mused.  
"So there's only you left, 'nelope," Agatha said. "One would think you'd never seen breasts before."  
"I've seen my own breasts and I've seen other people breasts, Agatha. It's got nothing to do with anything."  
Agatha propped herself up on one elbow. "How gay are you, Penelope?"  
"That is such a terrible question," Penelope muttered.  
"Full on lesbian or bi like Simon and me?" Agatha prodded.  
"You're bi?" Penelope tilted her head to the side. "I thought you were straight."  
"Mommy dearest thinks boys are more appropriate," Agatha said, a tinge of bitterness in her voice. "Isn't that fun?"  
"Free yourself from parental and social expectations, Wellbelove," Baz said, alcohol slurring the longer words. "My father has long given up on finding me a mate.”  
"Vampires can't have babies," Simon pointed out. He was absently stroking Baz's leg, and Agatha decided not to point it out to him.  
"He's also powerless, since I sided with you and we won. I'm on the side of the people's darling and he's the one who supported the Humdrum. In secret, of course, but people know anyways. He still does the work, but I'm the spokesperson now, and I haven't got anyone's hand up my butt animating me." Baz sounded sad and angry and amused and drunk. Agatha suspected that he was drunker on Simon's touch and proximity than the alcohol. _At least they're mutually oblivious,_ she thought. _They're both head over heels and dancing around each other. I could give them a push, easy._  
"My family was neutral, so no help there, but thanks."  
"Hey," Simon said suddenly. "Truth or Dare?"  
"No," Baz groaned.  
"Yes," Penelope said.  
"Truth or dare, Baz?" Agatha copied his sprawl, although she was in an armchair, so her head was on one armrest and her heels on the arm of Penelope's chair.  
"I'm not playing this game," Baz said, and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when the band replaces the DJ again."  
"Agatha, truth or dare?" Simon asked.  
"Truth."  
"Baz lost his virginity with you."  
"What!" Baz squawked, opening his eyes.  
"False! False, false! I never slept with Baz, thank the faery courts and all their gods," Agatha said feelingly.  
"Hey, I'm not that bad," Baz protested.  
"No one here to attest to that, so we'll just have to take your word for it." Agatha wrote with an imaginary pen in midair, then changed her mind and touched the enameled comb in her hair. **"Take notes, children."** A notepad appeared in front of her, and she told it, "Baz is not that bad."  
"Fml," Baz said, covering his eyes with a hand. "Save me from the pirates, Simon."  
"I don't understand that reference," Simon said, and Baz snorted.  
"Truth or dare, Pen?" he said.  
"Dare."  
"I dare you to drink this." Baz pulled his wand from the breast pocket of his suit. **"Drink up, it's good for you."** The drink that popped into existence in Penelope's hands was white and opaque.  
"This better not be plaster," Penelope warned, and gulped half of the glass. "Baz, you delinquent, you."  
"What? What is it?"  
"It's milk," Penelope said, and drank it all down. "You got the spell too right."  
"Too good at what I do, that's me. Teach me to cast spells ironically."  
"Were you casting them before it was cool?" Agatha asked, laughing. "Truth or dare, Baz?"  
"Dare."  
"I dare you to streak in the corridor-"  
"Noooo problem. Agatha, my dear, I'll gladly strip for any of my friends."  
"-in a dress. Pink tulle and everything. I'll make it for you, if you want."  
"Please." Baz stood up and spread out his arms. "I want to go to the ball, godmother!"  
 **"Bibbity bobbity boo,"** Agatha said, rubbing the comb, and Baz was decked out in a Cinderella-type dress, complete with funny headband.  
"You look cute, Baz," Penelope said.  
"I look gorgeous, although pink is decidedly not my color." He went out into the corridor.  
"This I have to see," Simon said, and they all got up to watch Baz enter the ballroom in his fluffy pink dress. A few catcalls sounded and someone tried to slap his bum, which was impossible to find under the skirts, and he came back to them grinning widely. "What do you say?"  
"I like it," Simon said, and both girls blinked at him. They shared a long look that communicated this is all too much.  
"Change it back, Agatha, it's hard to breathe in the corset," Baz said, and Agatha murmured **"Riches to rags."**  
"Wow, thanks," Baz said, and ushered them back into the room. "Okay, last one. Penelope gets to ask Simon."  
"Truth," Simon said quickly. "I'm not suicidal."  
"Truth, huh," Penelope said, smiling.  
In a flash of panic, Agatha thought that Penelope might try to ask Simon about his feelings for Baz. It would be a terrible, terrible idea to do that now. Usually Penelope wouldn’t, but who knew how out of it she was… _How do I distract her?_ She pushed Penelope into her chair and plopped herself down in the other woman's lap. "What're you going to ask him?"  
Penelope smiled again, this time much softer. "Nothing traumatizing, I swear. Simon, who was your first kiss?"  
"That's not how Truth works," Baz said.  
"Dev," Simon said.  
"What! My best friend was your first kiss?" Baz glared at Simon. "What the hell, Snow?"  
"If it makes you feel better, he thought I was Gary Rueben at the time," Simon said.  
"It does not make me feel better. Who did you think he was?"  
"I knew who he was. I was trying to distract him."  
"Distract him with your _mouth_?" Baz asked.  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. It worked," Simon said. "Sorry, Baz."  
"I wondered why he was so into Gary Rueben in third year." Baz shook his head. "I guess you're a good kisser, huh."  
Simon blushed bright pink. "No I'm not."  
"I'd give him a seven. But then, he was never really interested in me," Agatha said.  
"Children, this is all very informative, but I'm going to sort it out before it gets disgusting. Baz, you okay?" Penelope pointed at him.  
"Slightly grossed out, but yeah. I'm not going to remember most of this tomorrow anyways."  
"I'm not sure if that's a good thing, but all right. Simon?"  
"Yes?"  
"Agatha?"  
"I want to dance." Agatha hopped off of Penelope's lap. "Who wants to come with me?"  
"I'll come. Simon, Baz?" Penelope stood up and smoothed her dress with both hands.  
"I think I'll go home," Simon said. "I'm kind of tired."  
Penelope looked at him in sympathy. "Are you sure?"  
"Yes. Baz, let's go, you're my ride." He picked up one of Baz's shoes and offered them up. "C'mon, you're too drunk anyways."  
"Stupid vampire metab'l'sm," Baz muttered. "Hits you all at once." He put on his shoes, slowly, and fumbled his phone out of his pants pocket. "You dial."  
Penelope and Agatha helped them get to the door, where there were people ready to help get drunken party goers to their cars. By the time he was in the car, the level to which Baz was drunk showed. He leaned heavily against Simon and refused to let go of his hand.  
"Dancing?" Penelope offered as they watched the car leave.  
"I don't feel like it anymore," Agatha said. "Let's do something else."  
"Let's make out drunkenly," Penelope said.  
Agatha frowned. "That would be a very, very bad idea. How drunk are you?"  
"My coordination's shot to hell and I'd end up sucking on your collarbone," Penelope said, and sat down hard.  
Agatha shivered and sat down on the step beside Penelope. "Are you even going to remember this tomorrow?"  
"Maybe not. I'm a very coherent drunk. I was only drunk once, though. I managed to convince whoever it was that I was sober and then fell asleep on her couch."  
Agatha felt jealousy burn her throat, and was glad that she hadn't had more than a few drinks. "I shouldn't have let you have so many of those absinthe cocktails."  
"I'm a big girl. I'm responsible for my own hangovers." Penelope leaned her head on Agatha's shoulder. "Do you have a nickname?"  
"No I do not, Miss Coherent Drunk. You may be coherent, but you're rambling."  
"Agatha isn't that long, but still... how about Aggie?"  
"Ugh. No."  
"Gati?"  
"No."  
"I've got no other ideas..." Penelope shivered.  
"It's cold, let's go inside."  
"Do you have a middle name?"  
"Rhiannon. It means 'great queen'. It's the Welsh goddess of the moon." Agatha tugged Penelope into a standing position and wrapped her arm around her to push her into the house.  
"Is your family Welsh, then?"  
"My great-grandmother was Welsh, it's her name. We never look out of the family for names in my family." It was much warmer inside, and Agatha's nose and fingers burned.  
"Agatha means good. Penelope means weaver. Like in the Odyssey. Queen Penelope the clever loyal wife." Penelope glanced at the piles of coats. "Let's go home."  
"Definitely. Do I call you a cab?"  
"No, I want to go home with _you._ " Penelope clutched her arm. It felt as if she were clutching Agatha's heart and guts and squeezing them together into a lump.  
"Cab it is," Agatha said, and added, "since I don't do hookups with my friends." _Since you'll regret it in the morning._  
"I want to cuddle, not have sex." Penelope frowned. "But your mother won't like you bringing home strays."  
Agatha laughed weakly. "The cab'll be here in five minutes. Let's find your coat."  
Afterwards, riding in her car alone, tired and headachy, Agatha thought that she probably would have been better off staying at home.  
\-- - --  
Agatha woke up the next morning with a minor hangover to the sound of her phone receiving a text message.  
It was from Penelope.  
-i didnt proposition u did i?  
Agatha rubbed her hand over her eyes.  
Agatha: -no you did not  
-u wanted to cuddle  
It took a few minutes for Penelope to answer. Agatha was halfway through a sweater when her phone beeped again.  
Penelope: -ok good  
-that would have been weird  
-drunk me is weird  
-i remember most of it tho  
-you?  
Agatha sighed.  
Agatha: -all of it  
-do you remember sion and baz  
Agatha's phone told her that Penelope was typing.  
Penelope: -simon kissed dev in fifth yr  
-baz was weirded out  
-i hope i didnt kill their budding romance  
Agatha laughed. It came out too sharp.  
Agatha: -they're ok it's a star crossed romnace  
-anyways simon thought baz looked hot in a dress so they're goo  
-good  
Penelope's response was immediate.  
Penelope: -oh i remember that  
-way to go simon  
-but srsly i ddid not want to know what does it for him  
-even though i know bcos he told me about every crush  
-which was not many  
-and then he talked about baz alot  
-it was kind of obvi  
Agatha took the phone with her when she went to brush her teeth and tapped out a message with one hand.  
Agatha: -it's nice when people know  
Penelope: -do you think they know?  
Agatha: -baz is self aware and simon knows he cares a lot but thinks baz doesnt see anything  
It took a while for Penelope to reply again. Agatha waited and then sent a text.  
Agatha: -you ok?  
The reply was immediate.  
Penelope: -yes just thinking  
-u know they say tell me who your friends are  
Agatha frowned.  
Agatha: -the revealing secrets spell?  
Penelope's text was accompanied by a smirky smiley face.  
Penelope: -yes but the proverb  
-tell me wh your friens are and i'll tell u who u are  
-it applies here  
Agatha: -how  
Penelope's answer was a bit slow.  
Penelope: -obliviousness all around  
-we should talk  
Agatha rolled her eyes  
Agatha: -what is this then dumbass  
Penelope sent a frowny face  
Penelope: -no need for that  
-i meant talk talk  
-face to face  
-when i get back  
-in a few days  
-going to my mom today  
-it's imprtant ok  
-we need to talk  
We need to talk sounded a lot like 'I'm breaking up with you', which didn't make sense since they weren't a couple.  
Agatha: -ok  
-text me when you want 2 talk  
-merry xmas  
Penelope: -merry xmas  
And then she was offline.  
Agatha tossed her phone onto her bed and jammed her comb into the pocket of her sweater. If she hurried, she could eat breakfast without running into anyone.  
\-- - --  
No such luck. Her mother was already there. On the other hand, so was a stack of pancakes, so all in all it wasn't that bad a morning.  
Her mother glanced at her. "Hangover?"  
"Just a small one." Agatha sat in the place set for her and poured herself tea. It was morning, so even her mother wouldn't force delicacy. The teapot was a hulking thing with strong black tea and there were mugs. Agatha added milk to her tea and contemplated the sugar bowl before pushing it away.  
"Unlucky in love?"  
Agatha looked up sharply.  
"You only drink sugar in your tea when you've been rejected, and I made a good guess."  
"I don't know. Maybe." Agatha piled pancakes onto her plate.  
"Maybe?" Her mother pushed the maple syrup towards her.  
"Maybe I've been rejected. Can you be dumped without there ever being a relationship?" Agatha flooded her plate with syrup and proceeded to stab the pancakes viciously.  
"Who was it?"  
Agatha shrugged. "Never mind."  
"Mmm. I'll make a guess, shall I?"  
Agatha narrowed her eyes at her mother. "You can have three."  
Her mother smiled and it almost looked sad. It was a rarity on her mother's face, enough to make Agatha stop attacking her pancakes and set the utensils down.  
"You actually know?"  
"Miss Bunce seems like a good girl."  
"You made me see Prudendroge on Wednesday! You knew and you still made me see the matchmaker!" Agatha scowled. "You don't approve. It doesn't matter, since she doesn't feel the same way anyways."  
"I don't know about Miss Bunce's side of the romance, Agatha." Mrs. Wellbelove sighed. "It's true that I'd rather someone else, but Miss Bunce is rising in certain circles, academic as well as social. I had Ms. Prudendroge check," she explained. "I can't stop you from doing what you will."  
Agatha nodded. It was a far cry from supporting her, but it would mean that at least her heartbreak when Penelope kind of dumped her ass would be tolerated.  
"You're still going to eat that mess?" her mother asked when she picked up the knife and fork.  
"She's still rejecting me," Agatha pointed out, and went to town on the cold, sticky pancakes.  
\-- - --  
She was reading course summaries on the university's website when her phone rang. Agatha raised her eyebrows at the unidentified caller number but answered anyways. "This is Agatha Wellbelove. Who's this? And how did you get my number?"  
"It's Simon. Penny gave it to me. Do you always answer the phone like that? It's kind of scary."  
Agatha huffed out a little laugh. "No, just the mystery callers. To what do I owe the honor?"  
"We were all in a bit of a state last night, so I thought I'd check to see you all are alright. Penny said you were fine, but I thought I'd call anyways."  
Agatha winced. She hadn't even thought to ask after Simon or Baz. "Thanks. That's a really nice thing to do."  
"Um, you're welcome." Simon's voice had a strange echo to it.  
Agatha pressed the phone closer to her ear, trying to identify the echo. "Simon, are you calling me from the bathroom?"  
"Yes?"  
Agatha groaned and leaned back against the back of her chair. "Oh my gods, that's disgusting. i am in no way ready for this level of intimacy."  
"What? No! No, I'm not doing anything, I swear! I'm just sitting on the lid of the toilet seat!" Simon sounded strained, as if he was fighting to keep his voice down.  
"There's someone in the room next door, isn't there?"  
"Yeah. How'd you know?"  
"You're whisper-shouting. Who is it? Did you pick someone up last night after the party? Are they cute?"  
"You're not ready to hear me use the bathroom, but you are ready to hear about a one night stand?" Simon sounded mildly appalled. "I didn't pick anyone up. I'm at Baz's-"  
"You slept with Baz?" Agatha cringed at her own shriek. "Sorry!"  
"It's okay. I didn't sleep with Baz. He fell asleep in the car and Jim and I talked and we decided that we should get Baz home first, and when we were at the Pitch house I helped him get Baz inside and I thought it would be wrong to make him drive me to my flat so I just stayed here for the night."  
"Breathe, breathe. Who's Jim?"  
"The driver for the Pitch family- well, Baz's driver actually. He's known Baz for years and he really cares about him." Simon's voice held a warmth for the man who cared about his friend, and Agatha smiled.  
"The Pitches are known for treating their staff well. People rarely get fired from the Pitch family."  
"It's so no-one tells anything. Baz says it pays to keep the people who work for you happy."  
Agatha thought for a minute. "True, but if Jim cares for Baz, then Baz is more than just a good employer. He must be nice to Jim."  
"Yeah, they banter a little. So, are you feeling well?"  
"I'm fine. I drank a lot less than Baz, or Penelope for that matter. You?"  
"There was a hangover cure waiting for me when I woke up, so I'm good. I'm never drinking ever again."  
Agatha giggled at the fervency in his voice. "That's perfectly all right, but you could just not drink absinthe cocktails as if they were water."  
"Oh, is that what the green ones were? I liked the red ones better."  
"I have no idea what's in those. The absinthe ones are famous in the Nymphadoras' circles, but the red ones are a secret. Personally I thought they were both pretty bad."  
"Why'd you have any, then?"  
Agatha closed her eyes. "That's a good question. I guess I wanted to loosen up a bit? It worked a little. I'm not very consistent when I'm drunk, though. A bit more floppy, usually, but otherwise I just feel better or worse depending on the mood I'm already in."  
"How did you feel last night, better or worse?"  
"Both?" Agatha leaned her head in the palm of the hand not holding the phone. "Never mind me. Can I ask you something?"  
"I guess." Simon's tone told her that he saw right through her change of subject, but Agatha wasn't worried. Simon wasn't nearly as good at reading people as her, or Penelope. Baz was better at it than Simon, too, but he needed to know them well, and he was better at making them do what he wanted.  
"The Pitch mansion is big enough for the guest rooms not to be right next to the family rooms. Why are you in Baz's bathroom?"  
"I crashed on the couch in his room. I was going to watch over him for a while, but I fell asleep. Woke up with a blanket over me, though. The people who work here really do care."  
"I see. Tell him that I hope he feels better when he wakes up, please. Will he have much of a hangover, do you think?"  
"I don't know enough about the vampire metabolism enough to tell you. Only that he'll feel better if he feeds," and the inflection said he didn't mean kippers, "but it'll also make him more aware to the discomfort. Except it'll also make it easier to bear?"  
"Search me. I never really listened in Magical Beings. Professor Draper always looked as if he wanted to be doing something else."  
Simon hummed in agreement.  
"Well, is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"  
"No, it's fine. I don't want to keep you."  
Agatha smiled. "You're too sweet to be the savior of the universe, Simon."  
"Uh..."  
"Keep in touch, okay? You don't need to wait until the next party to see me. And that goes for Baz, too."  
"Okay... wait, what do I do when Baz wakes up?"  
"Give him water and make him eat. Hangover cure if you have one. Take photos of him looking like rubbish and send them to me, I could do with a laugh."  
"I took photos of him in the dress last night, I could send you those."  
Agatha made a face at the memory. "No, thanks. Keep those to yourself, you'll find more pleasure in them than I would."  
Simon made an uncomfortable sound. "Bye."  
"Bye." Agatha hung up and rubbed her ear. This was what her life had become- having meaningful conversations with people who were sitting on toilet seats. It wasn't as depressing a thought as it might have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Magic Moose is utterly fictious. It's a spoof of Panic! at the Disco and Fall Out Boy, but the song is "Let's Dance to Joy Division" by The Wombats, and the titles are inspired by Supernatural, because Sam Winchester as an emo-rock-pop singer will never cease to amuse me. He looks like he should be in a boy band.  
> Penny gets the 'socks' thing from Terry Pratchett's "Monstrous Regiment".  
> Professor Draper is Arram Draper, a.k.a Numair Salmalin, from The Immortals quartet by Tamora Pierce. He's probably dwelling on how much he'd rather Daine was teaching the class, or maybe just thinking about Daine.
> 
> Chapter title is from "The Employment Pages" by Death Cab for Cutie.


	4. Got in my car and raced like a jet all the way to you

_Gods grant me patience,_ Agatha thought, smiling politely at the host of the tea party, who was prattling on about how everything was changing, and you wouldn't believe what she'd heard so-and-so say... Agatha knew she should be paying more attention, but the driving force in this household was not the designer-frocked young woman nattering about the Granges' shrinking bank account. This girl was small potatoes and a waste of time.  
Agatha bit into a teacake to mask her frown. Her mother had said that the Elliots were still influential, but the influential Elliots were the parents, and their children were completely out of the loop.  
 _Maybe Mama and I think of different circles of influence when we say influential nowadays,_ Agatha thought. _I really should talk to Penelope._ Her heart gave a painful bound. Bugger this all for a lark. How had she fallen for someone so hard in less than two months?  
Her phone buzzed against her leg, where it was, in fact, not sitting. She'd done a spell to alert her to it when she'd left it in her coat. The pink wool dress she was wearing didn't have pockets.  
 _Bloody useless spell to cast._ She couldn't go and get it lest she seemed rude. Agatha set her cup and cake on the table and got up. "Could you tell me where the washroom is?"  
"Turn left, down the corridor, second door to the right," Katelyn Elliot said. She had no compunctions about politeness, and rather than listen to her sister, who was drawing increasingly less attention from her listeners with each sentence, she was scrolling through tumblr on her phone.  
"Thank you." Agatha wound her way around the parlor furniture and followed Katelyn's instructions. Once she was in the bathroom, she rubbed the comb in her hair and murmured, **"Fetch."** Her phone appeared in midair, and she caught it before it hit the floor. The screen told her that she had eight text messages.  
-Hi it's baz  
-do you want to come over? greg and maura are back from their grandmother and theyre driving me nuts  
-simon's here too but we can't handle it  
-please save me from the monsters wellbelove  
-baz is a giant bilgesnipe  
-sorry that was greg  
-i'm never having kids  
-please agatha, answer already  
Agatha covered her mouth with a hand, choking down laughter. Baz's siblings were twin nine year olds, and she'd never heard him speak of them with anything but affection. Apparently, their Christmas visit had given them an energy boost.  
A new text appeared on the screen:  
Baz: -you're making me look desperate  
Agatha removed her hand and typed.  
Agatha: -sorry i'm at a tea party and snuck off to check my phone  
Baz: -who's the host  
Agatha: -Elliots. just the kids  
Baz: -screw them. come here and help me and simon from hyper kids  
Agatha: -give me half an hour and i'll get out of here  
Baz: -oh no. 15 minutes tops  
Agatha: -twenty five  
Baz: -20  
Agatha: -done. what's your adress  
Baz: -r u kidding me ddygheqqvo  
-sorry that was Maura this time but simon got her  
-it's not the town house it's the pitch family home  
Agatha: -how long a drive  
Baz: -it's a safepath  
Agatha groaned, then glanced at the door nervously. The Pitches would seclude their house with a magical access lane. Paranoid little prats.  
Agatha: -text me the spell. how long a drive?  
Baz: -quarter hour if you speed like crazy  
Wow, a Safepath spell and a long road. Lucky there wasn't a moat.  
Agatha: -ok thirty five min and i'm there  
Baz: -thank you thank you god bless you  
-I mean gods sorrry  
Agatha: -excused  
Agatha rubbed the comb again, said **"put that thing back where it came from or so help me,"** because she was in a hurry, and left the room.   
Forty five minutes later, because the Safepath had a speed limit, for gods' sake, and also because Ronda Elliot was really, really annoying, Agatha parked in the driveway of the Pitch house and walked briskly up the stairs (in the back of her mind, so old that she didn't even notice it anymore, her mother's voice said 'A lady does not run. A lady is in control.') The man who opened the door took her things and a maid walked her to a closed room, from which sounded a frustrated shout.  
"Thank you," Agatha said to the maid, and opened the door.  
Four heads turned towards her- one blond, and three black, the black ones coming in two sizes. Behind them flashed a wide screen depicting a colorful forest.  
"What," Agatha said, her hands going to her waist instinctively at the guilt blooming on Simon and Baz's faces, "is going on here?"  
"We're not doing anything bad," piped up Small Black-haired Person No. 1, who, like Small Black-haired Person No. 2, looked perfectly calm.  
"Yes. That is, in fact, what I was referring to." Agatha eyed her friends and decided to borrow a page from Penelope's book- to wit, the Calling People by Their Full Names So They Know They're In Trouble page. "Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, if you made me drive all the way here for no good reason, you will regret the day the fetus that was to be you developed the fingers it would later use to text me."  
"You're in trouble, Baz," Small Black-haired Person No. 2 said knowingly.  
"It's week eight, Maura says," Small Black-haired Person No. 1 said.  
"What is," Agatha said irritably.  
"The fetus develops fingers in week nine, actually," Small Black-haired Person No. 2, who, apparently, was Maura, said. "They're blobs in week eight. But good job, Greg."  
"Thanks. Maura's going to be a doctor one day," Greg told Agatha. "I'm going to be a physicist."  
Agatha let her hands drop from her waist. "Are you really."  
\-- - --  
"Sorry, but I managed to get them to sit down twenty minutes ago and I figured you were on your way anyways." Baz said to Agatha over the sound of the game music. His character had been eaten by Maura's, whose character had been crushed by a falling tree two turns later as part of Baz's long-term strategy. Greg and Simon were battling it out, which actually meant that Simon was fleeing Greg's poison darts and censoring himself constantly. Every five seconds he muttered 'fudge' or 'drat', and Maura was looking at him rather critically.  
"It's okay," Agatha said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'd rather be here."  
Baz's grin was a reward in itself. "You're a brick, Wellbelove."  
"You're not Peter Pevensie, so don't call talk like him, and definitely don't use my last name." Agatha crossed her legs, careful not to kick Simon, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, in the head.  
"You can take off your shoes if you like," Maura said suddenly. "We're all barefoot."  
"I see," Agatha said. She contemplated the fate of her stockings vis-a-vis tucking her feet up in comfort, and shucked her heels. "Where do I put these?"  
"Just toss them in the corner," Baz said, waving lazily at the pile of shoes across the room. "This is the play room, so it doesn't matter."  
"I will not toss my shoes across the room," Agatha said. "I'm not five years old."  
"Live a little," Baz said.  
Agatha narrowed her eyes at him and considered what sort of childhood made one think that being barefoot and careless with footwear was freedom. Then she stood up, aimed, and tossed one shoe after the other at the pile. They landed neatly at the top.  
Greg broke into applause, which made his character leap off a cliff. "Oh," he said, not seeming very upset. "You win, Simon."  
"Last man standing. Story of my life," Simon said, putting down the controller.  
"So you don't want the prize?" Baz asked too innocently. "Because I'd be all too happy to claim it instead of you."  
"No, I do. I do!" Simon tipped his head back and squinted at Baz. The effect was comical enough that Baz's grin stretched his eyes into crescent moons. "Give me my prize!"  
"Oh, I don't know..."  
Simon turned around and clambered up the sofa. Maura moved out of the way so he could corner Baz- against Agatha, who smirked and slipped off to sit on the rug. "Don't you dare!"  
"What you gonna do about it?" Baz asked, slipping into childhood vernacular.  
Agatha looked away as Simon tackled Baz and wrestled him half off the back of the sofa. Maura and Greg were watching the scuffle with expressions of calculating interest that looked very familiar to Agatha.  
"Five pounds says Simon wins but doesn't get the prize," Greg said.  
"I say Baz wins and he does," Maura countered.  
The boys rolled off the back of the sofa and fell to the floor with a thump and a muffled "oh, sh-" and a "give it to me!" which Agatha could have lived without.  
"Simon wins and he gets the prize," Agatha said, enjoying the surprise in the twins' eyes.  
"Do you have insider information?" Greg asked, with the wariness of one who has been cheated out of his fair share of dessert too many times and has committed 'fool me once' to heart.  
"No more than you," Agatha said smoothly, which was a lie. There was no way the kids knew that their brother wanted to make like a bunny with Simon. Which, ew, she knew what she'd meant but the mental image was not good.  
"Deal. Shake on it," Greg said, and Agatha stuck out a hand. "No, with both of us. Like this." He demonstrated, crossing his arms. The resulting triple handshake looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland.  
"Come on, if we don't watch they might cheat," Maura said. She and Greg scrambled onto the sofa, perching on the back as if they were watching a football game from the bleachers.  
Agatha knelt on the cushions and rested her chin on the back. "The contestants have five minutes in which to finish the match," she said in her best announcer voice. "Countdown begins now. **Lift off in five.** " She touched a finger to her comb, and a digital timer appeared, although it ticked like a regular clock instead of beeping off the seconds. "Oh, poo. I messed up the spell."  
"It's okay," Maura reassured her, not taking her eyes off the timer.  
"So, what's the prize?" Agatha asked.  
"Winner gets their instrument back," Greg said.  
Agatha gasped, and waved it away, muttering "hiccup," when Greg looked at her funny. Giving your instrument to someone else, even temporarily, was a great big no-no that even children knew almost instinctively. Agatha didn't think that Baz's father was big on trust (although she knew never to misjudge a woman, by all means William Edric Pitch had been the dominant parent in Baz's life and was probably still head of the household as far as Greg and Maura were concerned) so the children giving up their instruments showed how much they trusted their brother, and Simon too.  
As for Simon and Baz giving up their instruments, or Simon giving his instrument into Baz's care... well.  
Bunnies, indeed. If there was a better qualification for 'hopelessly, obliviously in love' Agatha would eat her hat.  
"Five...four...three…two...one!" Maura and Greg counted in unison and slapped the sofa as the timer bleeped obnoxiously and faded out of existence.  
"Winner is..." Greg peered at the frozen tableau in front of them.  
"Hurry up, I'm dying in here," Baz muttered under Simon's armpit.  
"I'm fine as I am," Simon said, triumphant grin smeared all over his handsome face.  
 _You would be, you're straddling him,_ Agatha thought amusedly.  
"Ever heard of deodorant, Snow?" Baz wriggled and Simon flushed suddenly. "Call it, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee."  
"Winner is Simon, hands down," Greg said.  
Simon shuffled off of Baz, face still red, and Baz sat up with a moan of relief.  
"Crowley, Simon, you're heavy, you know?" He rubbed his back. "Well, your prize is in the play chest. Go claim the spoils of war, conqueror. Give us a hand, Agatha."  
"Still talking like Peter Pevensie, I see," Agatha said, sitting up on her knees and reaching both hands out to Baz. When he hauled himself up, she leaned in and murmured, "The spoils of war usually include sexual conquest, did you know?" She sat back and added innocently, "Incidental History was my favorite class."  
Baz dropped her hands like hot coals. "Was nosing about in people's lives your elective?"  
"More of a hobby," Agatha said. She felt light-headed and free. Being rejected by the one person you've ever really felt 100% good about did that to a person, probably. "But hey, it takes one to know one!"  
"What're you two talking about?" Simon asked, coming back hair standing up every which way and holding not one, but four instruments. "Here, Maura, Greg." He handed out an ornate key on a ribbon, which Maura slipped around her neck, and a smooth white crystal, which Greg slipped into a secure drawstring pocket in his trousers.  
"Thank you," the twins chorused.  
"Yeah, thanks," Baz muttered and took his wand.  
"Sure." Sion looked at Baz curiously. "Is everything all right?"  
"No," Agatha said quickly. "The party I was at, someone said something concerning the Pitches. I forgot because I was distracted on arrival, but I need to speak with Baz in private. We could talk later, if you want," she added, turning to face Baz.  
"If 'twere done, 'twere best done quickly," Baz quoted. "Listen to Simon while I'm not here, Maura. Greg, don't you even dare."  
"I wasn't-"  
"I can read your mind." Baz waited for Agatha to get off the couch and followed her politely out of the room. With the door shut behind them, they walked a little ways down the corridor.  
"Baz-" Agatha began.  
"What." Baz's voice was flat and cold. "What do you want."  
"I'm sorry," Agatha said. Her throat hurt and her nose was suddenly running. _What a time to come down with a cold._ She sniffed, and was horrified to hear the exhale come out as a ragged sob.  
Baz let out a long sigh and wrapped his arms around her. Agatha stiffened for a second, and then buried her head in Baz's shoulder and choked down her sobs.  
"It's all right, let it out," Baz murmured. "Come on, let's go in here, shall we?" He removed one hand from her back to open a door and shuffled them both inside, edging them onto a bench. "It's all right. You can cry all you want and no one will hear."  
This only made Agatha cry harder.  
"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm here." He stroked her back soothingly. "It's okay to be sad," and his tone, heard over the ugly, wet sounds of Agatha's crying, told her that he'd cried his own share of tears into a pillow or a towel while outside the door no-one heard.  
When she'd cried herself out, Agatha pulled away from Baz's embrace and wiped at her face, drying her tears with the backs of her hands.  
"Do you want to tell me why you were sad, Agatha?" Baz asked patiently.  
"You must be a great big brother," Agatha mumbled, still wiping her face.  
"I like to think I'm good at everything I do," Baz joked. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  
"It's okay." Agatha dried her face and sniffed. "It's just- you know Penelope?"  
"My best friend Penelope? Yes, I've heard of her."  
Agatha's smile was watery. "I kind of have a huge all-encompassing crush on her?"  
"Oh, that. I thought that was obvious."  
Agatha glared at him. "Baz!"  
"Woah. Cut it out with the death stare, Eleanor Dashwood."  
"You did not just reference Sense and Sensibility. I swear to the gods, Baz-"  
"Don't blaspheme for me, Agatha, I'm not worth it." Baz wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry I used Jane Austen on you."  
"Apology accepted. This time."  
Baz smiled. "It's fitting, though, because everyone can see that you're smitten, and everyone can see that Penny's smitten right back."  
"I can't." Agatha stared down at the damp handkerchief and wondered if she could blow her nose on it.  
"I think you can. Did something happen to make you think she doesn't absolutely adore you?"  
Agatha laughed weakly. "Yes."  
"Did she say, 'I, Penelope Anne Bunce, do not have romantic feelings toward you, Agatha-"  
"Rhianon-"  
"Rhianon, really?"  
"Really, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch the Second?"  
"Okay, okay, Agatha Rhianon Wellbelove, and furthermore you'll never have a chance to get into my panties'?"  
"I don't want to get into her panties!" Agatha rolled her eyes at Baz's incredulous expression. "Okay, I want to, but that's not the main thing about this."  
"All I can say is that Penny doesn't talk with just anyone every day and come to their awful tea parties and play nice with their snotty third cousins. She doesn't even talk to Simon that much, and she's practically adopted him as her brother."  
Agatha twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "I don't know..."  
"Now you're just fishing, and I'm not going to indulge you. How about you talk to Penelope about the two of you? She's supposed to come back from her mother tomorrow." Baz got up from the bench and looked around. "Come on, let's get out of here. We're in the twins' lab- long story- and there are at least three volatile substances in that cupboard."  
Agatha glanced at the cupboard and the glowing yellow bowl sitting on the middle shelf, and got up from the bench. "Okay," she said, and sniffed.  
"Blow your nose," Baz instructed, grimacing when she did.  
Agatha made a face. "Let me guess, I can keep the handkerchief?"  
"That would be ungentlemanly of me." Baz waved his wand at the damp ball of cloth in Agatha's hand. **"Laundry day."**  
"Thank you," Agatha said, letting her empty hand drop. "For everything."  
"Keep it to yourself, I have a reputation to keep up." Baz smiled sheepishly when Agatha snorted. "Never mind, you're right. You're welcome."  
They left the lab. At the door to the play room, Baz paused. A sneaky grin appeared on his face. "Shall we see what they've done to Simon?"  
"I'm sure he's fine. They love him," Agatha said, and opened the door.  
Baz's sappy smile slid right off his face. "What the fuck!"  
"You can't swear!" Agatha said automatically. Baz always insisted that a clean mouth be kept around his siblings, and it had leaked into his everyday life. He'd perfected not-swearing into an art. "You're corrupting them..." She trailed off, eyes trained on Simon, who was floating gently around the room on his stomach with the twins on his back. "Never mind. The Pitch genes are just..."  
Agatha's loss of words released Baz from his frozen stance, and he leaped forward to stop Simon's flight with his hip. "What do you think you're doing?"  
"They tricked me, Baz," Simon said mournfully.  
"I know, I know." Baz patted his head. "Get off him, you terrors."  
"He lost a bet," Maura said, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation for turning a man into a flying carpet.  
"Of course he did," Baz sighed. "You never learn, do you, Simon?" Simon gave a noncommittal groan. "Off, and there will be absolutely no pudding tonight."  
Agatha giggled helplessly as the children slid off Simon's back sulkily. Baz undid the spell with a **"business as usual"** , making Simon slowly turn until his feet were parallel to the ground and then drop the last centimeter. His slumped shoulders and pout made Agatha laugh harder, until she was leaning against the wall and fighting to catch her breath.  
"Stop it, Agatha, it's not funny," Simon said, but he smiled anyways.  
"It- oh, it is." Agatha sighed and pressed a hand against her side. "Simon, you just can't say no to the Pitches, can you?"  
"If that was true, he'd have done a lot of nasty things during our school years," Baz said drily, not noticing Simon's blush.  
\-- - --  
Agatha's constitutional walk in the snow (getting away from the tinkly holiday songs that were her mother's only foray into pop culture and the smell of eggnog that insisted on pervading the house was definitely good for her health) meant that she was wrapped in six or seven layers, and so had to fumble through quite a lot of cloth before she managed to find her phone. 'Lions' blared at her until she finally yanked off her glove and swiped the little green icon across the screen.  
"Hi, Penelope," she began, and cringed away from the phone as the quiet of the garden was disturbed by what she could only describe as a ruckus.  
"Agatha, good. Do you have time?" Penelope was talking too loud.  
Agatha rolled her eyes. "Obviously I'm busy doing very important things."  
"I'm sorry, what? I can't hear you!"  
"Yes, I'm free!"  
"Good! Do you want-" a screech covered Penelope's shouting. "-with me?"  
"I'm not sure what you just said." A sound like a dying man came from Penelope's side of the call. Probably not a dying man, but who knew with the Underground.  
There was a short not-silence. "Okay! I'll be home pretty soon. How about the cafe on my street? It's really nice." The noise had died down, and was now the rattling of a train.  
"Sure..."  
"I'll text you the address. Just call when you're there. Um..." Penelope never hesitated when she spoke. She'd probably never said "um" in her life. "Traffic won't be too bad, right? The holiday's over."  
"It'll be fine," Agatha said, showing once and for all that love is indeed blind, or at least blind to the reality of London traffic.  
"See you soon, then."  
"Bye," Agatha said, and then hung up and blinked at the screen of her phone until the text from Penelope popped up, full address of the cafe detailed even though she knew where Penelope lived and could probably find the cafe by herself.  
Right. Change. Drive. Confess embarrassing teenagery crush. Or not.  
She trudged towards the house.  
\-- - --  
The traffic had, of course, made a liar out of Agatha, but she found the cafe easily and texted Penelope from a seat at the back. While she waited, she looked around at the other customers. Penelope's flat was in a building that had been taken over by a bunch of Greenwich, or as they liked to call themselves, Greenwitch University students who'd decided they wanted to be able to complain about Intro to Invisible Transport without having to worry about being overheard by gandry students. The result was that, although Agatha had never been in the flat- this was as close as she'd ever been- Penelope often complained about the Potions major who poured his failed concoctions into the kitchen sink and made the whole building's water change colors, or once, explode.  
The cafe, however, was perfectly normal. No one was waving a wand or arguing about familiars, and the cakes in the little display lacked the distinct _experimental_ look that baked goods often had in private cafes when run by magicians. It was warm and pleasantly hubbub-y and smelled not at all of peppermint or eggnog, which Agatha counted as a point in the cafe's favor.  
The waitress approached her table, smiled, introduced herself as Nadia and gave her a menu. Agatha explained that she was waiting for a friend, and Nadia left and returned with another menu.  
It really was a nice cafe, and Agatha was perusing the menu absently when a flash of bright orange caught her eye. She put the menu down and waved at Penelope.  
Penelope smiled at her, plopping herself down into the empty seat and brushing an abundance of curls away from her face. "Hey! It's so windy outside that I can't leave the house without looking like a yarn doll. Have you ordered yet?"  
"Hello, and no," Agatha said. Butterflies had appeared in her stomach when Penelope sat down.  
"The carrot cake is good, although I'm biased," Penelope said, smiling ruefully and pulling on a curl, which bounced back into shape. "You can call the waitress if you want."  
Agatha caught Nadia's eye and they ordered, carrot cake and Earl Grey for Penelope and a berry tart and oolong for Agatha. Both ignored the "specialty" teas, Penelope from familiarity and Agatha because the fact that there isn't magic in something doesn't mean that it's safe (particularly if it's called 'Iron Goddess of Mercy').  
"So," Penelope said, folding her hands in a business-like manner.  
"So," Agatha said, crossing her legs carefully.  
"So," Penelope said, and shook her head a little. "Sorry about before, but the station was really loud."  
"I have been on the Underground before. You don't need to explain."  
"I think we didn't hear each other very well," Penelope soldiered on. "There was a bit when the train stopped and you answered funny-"  
"I said I wasn't sure what you were saying, but there was a sound like someone dying from your side."  
Penelope looked at her quizzically. "There was a busker. Anyway, the train's noise was very loud, so I think I should repeat what I was saying."  
Agatha, experienced enough to know that there was no stopping Penelope when she was trying to lead the conversation, nodded.  
"Do you want to go out with me?"  
A small smile spread across Agatha's lips. "Really?"  
"I think I have a chance, don't you?" Penelope looked pleased with herself, but her whole body leaned forward, towards Agatha.  
"Oh, definitely. Absolutely. This is a date," Agatha said. Just to confirm it.  
Penelope smiled and nodded and blushed a bit and stretched her hand across the table, and Agatha took it without hesitation. "It's not exactly the best first date..."  
"What are you talking about, it's perfect." Agatha squeezed Penelope's hand.  
"I want to give this a shot," Penelope said. "I'm not exactly the heir to a carpet empire, but I don't think you're that into rich snobs, so. Plus I'm very clean and clever and have excellent people skills, if I do say so myself."  
Agatha nodded solemnly. There were a hundred things she wanted to say add to Penelope’s list, but now wasn't the time. "All points I have taken into consideration, I assure you."  
"'Into consideration'? Have you been considering me?" Although Penelope's tone was teasing, her expression was warm.  
"Yes. No need to look smug, 'nelope, I didn't say how long."  
"How long, then?" Penelope leaned forward, and Agatha mirrored her movement, so their foreheads were a thumb's length apart.  
"Kind of since the first party. Don't laugh," Agatha murmured.  
"Why would I? Did you fall for my honesty or for my witty small talk?" Penelope's eyes crinkled at the corners. Their breath mixed.  
"Honestly, I was mostly thinking that you were really, really pretty."  
Penelope giggled. "Uh-huh."  
"Don't get me wrong, I was really impressed by the linguistics debate and the 'I don't trust you' speech, but my first impression was 'wow' and my brain kind of went fizzy. That doesn't happen a lot, you know."  
"I'm sure..." Penelope leaned forward. Agatha closed her eyes...  
"Ahem." Nadia stood over them with an amused expression on her face. "Not that I don't appreciate young love, ladies, but this tray is a bit heavy."  
They pulled apart, but when Nadia whisked away from their table Agatha leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to Penelope's mouth. "For later," she said, settling back into her seat.  
"An IOU?"  
"A promise," Agatha said, as sternly as she could considering the fact that her heart had expanded to fill her entire body. "You have no romance in your heart."  
"I'll let you into my panties after the third date," Penelope said.  
"Oh, my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun," Agatha said, and filched a piece of carrot cake.  
\-- - --  
Miss Prudendroge's presence in the Wellbelove home was a mystery to Agatha. After all, Agatha had made it very clear to her mother that she was not in the market. Hadn't she?  
Except for some reason her mother wasn't present.  
"Your mother will not be joining us," Miss Prudendroge said, once Agatha had sat down.  
Agatha suppressed the _well, duh_ that threatened to pop out of her mouth and merely nodded. "That's fine, since I see no reason for anyone to be present for this visit. I'm no longer single. Bye!" She got up from the chair and turned away briskly.  
"Miss Wellbelove, I have no intention of offering you another dithering pseudo-aristocrat to spend the rest of your life with."  
Well, if they'd started their working relationship like that, Agatha would have been a lot happier. "Good! I’ll just go, then."  
"Sit down, Miss Wellbelove."  
Agatha frowned and remained standing, although she turned back to face the matchmaker. "You are in my house. You will not order me or command me, nor will I hesitate to defend myself, and believe me when I say that I can defend myself well."  
"I'm aware. I apologize for my presumptiveness; please, sit."  
Agatha sat. The Wellbelove house was no Pitch family home, with defenses built into the very stone. If Miss Prudendroge was quicker than her, Agatha would be at her mercy.  
"You spent the past year traveling as a temporary agent for the AMPR- let me continue," she said, when Agatha nearly leaped out of her chair. "You were recruited as a team with Debora Bloom, who in turn drew the Agency's eye because her great-aunt is one of their best agents. Recruitment of roommates as a team is not uncommon, and neither is their eventual separation, because childhood bonds do change as people mature. You and Debora were a good team, but you chose to return home."  
"It wasn't really my choice," Agatha said.  
"Quite. Neither would it have been wise for you to continue in the Agency, since you are too prominent a social figure in England. However, the Agency offered you a different post-"  
"Which I refused, yes, thank you. I know all this already, I _lived_ it. Could we get to the point?"  
"The Agency would like to offer you a new job, Miss Wellbelove."  
Agatha stared at the woman sitting across from her. Years of ladylike behavior battled with the words that crowded her mind. Finally, she said, "This is mental."  
Miss Prudendroge sniffed. "I was under the impression that you were a rather unique young woman, but I stand corrected. That is the same response every agent receives upon attempting to recruit."  
"Maybe it's because you people have no idea how to do this? You've been monitoring my love life-"  
"Your social life."  
"-I don't care! You've been stalking me like you're, I don't know, Black Widow or something, and now you say, oh yes, the past months have been a test, welcome to the club, here's how the secret handshake works."  
"This is a refusal, then." Miss Prudendroge nodded. "Very well. Good day, and please do not mention this to anyone." She rose from her seat, only to be waved down again.  
"I didn't say I was refusing," Agatha said. "But I want details. What would I be doing?"  
"You do realize that I can't give you much information."  
"Of course."  
"First of all, you would undergo training. Then, upon completion of said training, you would work for DAMPR. It wouldn't be very different from what you do now- a lot of talking."  
"DAMPR. Not just the Agency? Or the British Department?"  
Miss Prudendroge smiled thinly in approval. "The Agency and the Departments are connected, parts of one organism. You would choose a branch of the Department, study for it, and monitor it from within. You would be both a part and separate from the Department, working for the Agency but with the Department."  
Agatha raised her eyebrows. "A spy. Would you expect me to rat out my colleagues? Report on their loyalties?"  
"To a certain extent. The world is changing, Miss Wellbelove. We must make certain it changes for the better. The war against the Insidious Humdrum showed where the World of Mages is twisted and flawed. You will be one of the people who makes sure that these flaws are fixed and do not return." Miss Prudendroge- who, Agatha realized, was probably someone else, and not a Miss Prudendroge at all- spread her hands. "Will you accept the offer?"  
"I'll consider it," Agatha said calmly, ignoring the huff her words received. "You need me and people like me. I want more information and a guarantee that I can work on my own terms."  
"Information and a contract will be sent to your email for your perusal," the agent said in clipped tones. "I require the address." She snapped her fingers, which annoyed Agatha a little bit, and extended the pen and post-it note that appeared.  
"You don't know it already?" Agatha wrote down her email address. The pen leaked. Definitely government issue.  
"We are DAMPR, Miss Wellbelove, not the FBI, and not SHIELD." The note and pen disappeared, although the ink stains on Agatha's fingers did not. "We are British."  
"So the French Department tracks their citizens? Good to know." Agatha's smile at the agent's puckered expression was just shy of a smirk. "Please, feel free to not drop by ever again."  
"I might just take you up on the offer."  
Agatha stood and held out her hand. "Goodbye, Miss Prudendroge."  
"Goodbye." They shook hands, and the agent left.  
Agatha waited with bated breath until she heard the front door open and shut. Then she pulled out her phone and called Penelope.  
"Hi."  
"Hi, can you talk?"  
"No, goose, I'm just using telepathy right now." A snort scraped across the connection, but Penelope's tone was still warm. "Yes, I have time."  
Agatha smiled, full and bright. "You won't believe what just happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elliots are yet another Austen reference; this time, Persuasion. The Elliots are all-around awful in the book, which deals heavily in marriage and matches, just like any Austen novel.  
> Greg is short for Gregory, and means "watchful, alert". Maura means "great". Baz's stepmom was in charge of this round of kids' names, thankfully.  
> William Edric Pitch- William means, more or less, "will to protect" or "desire to protect", although I was mostly thinking of William the Conqueror. Edric means, more or less, "wealthy rule".  
> Penny's middle name- Anne means "favor" or "grace".  
> "Lions" is a song by Lights and it's very Agatha.  
> I got the weird tea name from a tea website I can't seem to find right now.  
> If you're part of an intelligence agency, don't go blabbing it on the phone. Agatha won't, since she's been an agent before- she's just going to . Plus, all agents of AMPR have a safety spell on their phones and computers to keep anyone from listening in or hacking (that's why Agatha was so surprised when she got an unidentified call. She forgot she didn't have all those spells on her phone anymore, and no longer has magical caller ID.)
> 
> Chapter title from "Rude" by Magic!.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
